The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 9

Brutus patted Alexandria’s thigh, enjoying the feel of her as they rode through the dusk out to the estate. After spending the day in bed with her, he felt more relaxed and at ease with the world than he could remember. He wished all his homecomings were of that quality.

Not used to riding, she held him tightly and he could feel the whip of her hair as it struck his bare neck, something he found extraordinarily erotic. She had grown strong while he was away, her body taut with health and strength. Her face too had altered subtly and her forehead was marked with a scar from a splash of hot metal, almost in the shape of a tear.

Her black cloak snapped around him for a moment in the wind, and he gripped the edge of it, pulling her in closer. She wrapped her arms around his chest and breathed deeply. The air was warm as the land gave back the heat of the sun, and Brutus only wished there was someone there to witness how magnificent they must look as he cut across the fields to the estate.

He saw it from far away, the light of torches blurring together to make the walls a crown of light in the growing darkness. He slowed at the end and for a moment he thought it was Tubruk waiting for him by the open gate.

Julius stayed silent as he watched them slow to a walk, guessing at Brutus’s thoughts and understanding them. He put aside his impatience and gave silent thanks for his friend’s arrival. It was right that he be there, and they shared a private smile of regret as Brutus turned in the saddle to help Alexandria down and then jumped to the ground beside her.

Julius kissed Alexandria on the cheek. “I’m honored to have you at my home. The servants will take you in while I have a word with Brutus,” he said. Her eyes sparkled, he thought, wondering if her mind ever strayed back to one particular evening as his did.

When she had gone inside, Julius took a deep breath and clapped Brutus on the shoulder in affection.

“I can’t believe Tubruk isn’t here,” Julius said, looking out over the fields.

Brutus glanced at him in silence for a moment, then reached down and picked up a handful of dust.

“Do you remember when he made you hold this?” he said.

Julius nodded, copying the action. Brutus was pleased to see him smile as he let the dust trickle into the breeze.

“Fed with the blood of those who have gone before us,” Julius said.

“And our blood. He was a good man,” Brutus replied, letting his own handful lift away and bringing his hands together in a sharp clap. “You’ll have to find someone else to get the fields plowed under again. I’ve never seen the place so ragged. Still, you’re back now.”

Julius frowned at him. “I was going to ask where you had disappeared to, but I see you found something better than seeing to the camp at Ostia.” Julius could not bring himself to be angry with his friend, though he had intended to make the point very clearly.

“Renius had it all in hand and it’s a good thing I did,” Brutus replied. “Alexandria told me there will be a public debate tomorrow in the forum and I rode straight here to tell you.”

“I know about it. Servilia told me as soon as she heard. Still, I’m glad you came. I would have sent for you even if you hadn’t disobeyed my orders.”

Brutus looked at his friend, trying to judge how seriously he was being criticized. The strain and exhaustion of the time in Spain had left Julius’s face, and he seemed younger than he had for a long time.

Brutus waited for a moment.

“Am I forgiven?” he said.

“You are,” Julius replied. “Now come inside and meet my daughter. There’s a room ready for you and I want you with me to plan a campaign. You are the last to come in.”

They walked together through the courtyard, the only sound the snap and flutter of the lamps along the wall. The breeze cut across them for a moment as the gate was shut, and Brutus felt the hairs lift on his arms, making him shiver. Julius opened a door into a room of life and chatter, and he ducked his head to go in, feeling the first touches of excitement.

Julius had summoned them all, Brutus saw as he looked round the room and greeted his friends. With Alexandria, everyone he cared about was in that one room, and they had the bright eyes of joyful conspirators, planning how to rule a city. Servilia, Cabera, Domitius, Ciro, Octavian, all the ones Julius had gathered to his side. The only stranger was the young Spaniard who had come with them as Julius’s scribe. Adàn looked from face to face even as Brutus did, and when their eyes met, Brutus nodded to him, acknowledging him as Julius would have wanted.

Brutus saw that Alexandria was standing stiffly amongst them and moved to her side instinctively.

Julius caught the movement and understood it.

“We need you here, Alexandria. No one else has lived in the city for the last few years, and I want that knowledge.”

She blushed prettily as she relaxed, and Brutus squeezed her buttock, unseen by the others. His mother looked sharply at him as Alexandria slapped his hand away, but Brutus only smiled at her before looking back at Julius.

“Where is this daughter of yours?” Brutus asked. He was curious to see the girl.

“She’ll be out in the stables,” Julius said. “She rides like a centaur, you know. I’ll call her in before she’s ready to sleep.” For an instant, pride touched his features as he thought of his daughter, and Brutus smiled with him. Then Julius cleared his throat, looking round at them all.

“Now, I need to decide what I am to do tomorrow morning, when I walk into the forum and declare for the consul’s post.”

Everyone tried to speak at once and the knock at the door went unheard for the first few moments.

Clodia opened it and her expression brought quiet as they saw her.

“There is… I could not stop him,” she began.

Julius took her by the arm. “Who is it?” he asked.

He froze as he caught sight of the figure behind her and stood back with Clodia to let the door swing open.

Crassus stood there, dressed in a toga of startling white against his dark skin. A gold clasp glittered at his shoulder and Alexandria blinked as she recognized her own work, wondering if it was coincidence or subtle proof of his understanding of the relationships in the room.

“Good evening, Caesar. I believe your post of tribune was never revoked. Should I address you by that title now that you have left the praetorship of Spain behind you?”

Julius bowed his head, struggling to hide the anger he felt at the man’s casual entry into his home. His mind spun with sudden thoughts. Were there soldiers outside? If there were, Crassus would find it harder to leave than to enter, he swore silently. Julius released his grip on Clodia’s arm and she left the room quickly without looking back. He did not blame her for letting Crassus into his home. Though she had run the house as its mistress, she had been too many years a slave not to be frightened by one of the most powerful men in the Senate. No door could be barred against a consul of Rome.

Crassus saw the tension in the young man he faced and continued. “Put yourself at ease, Julius. I am a friend to this house, as I was to Marius before you. Did you think you could land a legion on my coastline without word reaching me? I would imagine even Pompey’s feeble ring of spies has heard you are back by now.” Crassus caught sight of Servilia in the room and lowered his head slightly in greeting.

“You are welcome here,” Julius said, trying to unbend. He knew he had hesitated too long and suspected the older man had enjoyed every moment of the confusion he had created.

“I am glad,” Crassus replied. “Well, if someone will fetch another chair, I will join you, with your permission. You will need a strong speech tomorrow if you mean to have a consul’s robe next year. Pompey will not be pleased to hear of it, but that is the sweetness to the sauce.”

“Are there no secrets from you?” Julius asked, beginning to recover.

Crassus smiled at him. “Confirmed by your own mouth! I thought there could be no other reason for you to leave the post as praetor. I trust you appointed a replacement before you sailed for Rome?”

“I did, of course,” Julius replied. To his surprise, he found he was enjoying the exchange.

Crassus took the chair Octavian vacated for him and settled himself, using his long fingers to tweak his toga into neatness. The tension in the room began to ease as they accepted him amongst them.

“I wonder, did you think you would just stride through the forum and ascend the speakers’ platform?” Crassus asked.

Julius looked blankly at him. “Why not? Servilia tells me Prandus will be there to speak. I have as much right as he.”

Crassus smiled, shaking his head. “I believe you would have done, at that. Better to come at my invitation, Julius. Pompey will not be asking for you to join us, after all. I look forward to seeing his face when you enter your name onto the lists.”

He accepted a cup of wine and sipped at it, wincing slightly.

“You realize Pompey may claim you have abandoned your duty by leaving before your term in Spain was finished?” he said, leaning forward in his seat.

“I am immune from prosecution as tribune,” Julius replied quickly.

“Unless it is a crime of violence, my friend, though I suppose deserting your post is safe enough.

Pompey knows your protection, but how will it look to the people? From now until the elections, Julius, you must not only act well, but be seen to act well, or the votes you need will be wasted on another candidate.”

Crassus looked around at the others in the room and smiled as his eyes met Alexandria’s. His fingers caressed the gold clasp at his shoulder for an instant, and she knew he recognized her and experienced a thrill of danger. For the first time since Brutus had found her in the workshop, she realized that Julius collected as many enemies as he did friends, and she was not yet sure which Crassus was.

“What do you gain by helping me?” Julius said suddenly.

“You have a legion I helped to rebuild, Julius, when it was still named Primigenia. I have been… persuaded of the need for men in the city. Trained men who cannot be bribed or tempted away by the gangs of raptores.”

“You claim a debt from me?” Julius replied, tensing himself to refuse.

Crassus glanced at Servilia and exchanged a look of understanding that Julius could not fathom.

“No. I waived any debts too long ago to mention. I am asking freely for your help and in return my clients will help to spread your name in the city. You do have only a hundred days, my friend. Even with my aid, that is a short time.”

He saw Julius hesitate and went on: “I was a friend to your father and Marius. Is it too much to ask for trust from the son?”

Servilia tried to will Julius to look at her. She knew Crassus better than anyone else in the room and hoped Julius would not be fool enough to refuse him. She watched the man she loved with something like pain as she waited for his reply.

“Thank you, Consul,” Julius said formally. “I do not forget my friends.”

Crassus smiled in genuine pleasure. “With my wealth…” he began.

Julius shook his head. “I have enough for this, Crassus, though I thank you.”

For the first time, Crassus looked at the young general with the beginning of real respect. He had been right in his judgment, he thought. He could work with him and infuriate Pompey at the same time.

“Shall we toast your candidacy, then?” Crassus asked, raising his cup.

At Julius’s nod, the rest of them took wine and held the vessels awkwardly as they waited. For a moment, Julius regretted finishing the Falernian, but thought better of it. Tubruk could raise a cup of it to them, wherever he was.

Julia sat out in the darkness of the stables, enjoying the warm comfort that the horses brought. She walked down the stalls and patted their soft muzzles, speaking softly to each one. She paused at the enormous gelding her father’s friend had brought that woman on. It was strange to use the word. Her father. How many times had Clodia told her about the brave man who had been sent away from the city by a consul’s whim? She had made her own pictures of him, telling herself he was held by the bonds of duty and could not return for her. Clodia always said he would come back in the end and everything would be all right, but now that he was there, Julia found him more than a little frightening. As soon as he had put his foot in the dust of the yard, everything had changed and the house had a new master.

He seemed so stern, she thought as she reached up to rub her nose against the gelding’s velvet nostrils.

The horse whickered gently in reply and pushed at her, blowing warm air against her face. He was not as old as she had expected. She’d imagined him with gray hair at the temples and the quiet dignity of a member of the Senate.

The night air carried a gust of noise from where the new people had gathered. So many of them! The house had never been so full of visitors, she thought, wondering at them. From her perch on the outer wall, she had watched them come in and shaken her head at so many strangers.

They were a different breed to the visitors Clodia invited, especially the old woman with diamonds at her throat. Julia had seen her father kiss her when he thought no one could see, and Julia had felt her throat tighten with dislike. She had tried to tell herself it was just a friendship, but there had been something intimate in the way the woman relaxed against him, and Julia’s cheeks had become hot with embarrassment. Whoever she was, she vowed they would never be friends.

She whiled away a little time imagining the woman trying to win her affection. She would be very cool toward her, Julia thought. Not rude; Clodia had taught her to despise rudeness. Just enough to make the woman feel unwelcome.

A heavy cloak hung on a peg by the gelding’s stall, and Julia recognized it as the one that had draped the last pair. She remembered the man’s laughter as it carried over the fields. He was very handsome, she thought. Shorter than her father, he walked like the man Clodia had employed to teach her to ride, as if he had so much energy that he could only barely stop himself from dancing with the pleasure of it.

Julia thought his companion must love him, from the way she had draped herself against his back.

They always seemed to be touching, almost by accident.

She stayed in the stables for a long time, trying to get to the root of what felt different since her father had arrived. She always came there when there was a problem or when she had upset Clodia. Amongst the smell of leather and straw, in the shadows, she had always felt safe. The main house had so many empty rooms that were cold and dark at night. When she crept through them to climb the wall under the moonlight, she could imagine her mother walking there and shiver. It was too easy to think of the men who had killed her, padding up behind until Julia would spin in terror and back away from phantoms she could never see.

A burst of laughter carried to her from the house, and she raised her head to listen. The sound faded into a deeper silence and she blinked in the darkness as she realized that having her father’s friends here made her feel safe. There would be no assassins creeping over the wall for her tonight, no nightmares.

She patted the gelding’s nose and took the cloak from its peg, letting it fall onto the dusty floor in a moment of spite. Her father’s friend deserved better than that one, she thought, hugging herself in the gloom.

Pompey paced with his hands clasped tightly behind him. He wore a toga of thick white cloth that left his arms bare, and the muscles moved visibly as he worked his fingers against each other. The lamps in his city home had begun to gutter, but he did not call for slaves to refill the reservoirs. The dim light suited the mood of the consul of Rome.

“Only standing in the elections could repair the damage of leaving his post. Nothing else is worth the risk he has taken, Regulus.”

His most senior centurion stood to attention as his general paced the floor. He had been loyal to him for more than twenty years and knew his moods as well as any man.

“I am yours to command, sir,” he said, staring straight ahead.

Pompey looked at him and what he saw seemed to satisfy him.

“You are my right arm, Regulus; I know it. However, I need more than obedience if Caesar is not to inherit the city from my hands. I need ideas. Speak freely and fear nothing.”

Regulus relaxed slightly with the command. “Have you considered drafting a law to allow you to stand again? He could not take the post if you were the alternative.”

Pompey frowned. If he thought for a moment that such a thing was possible, he would have considered it. The Senate, even the citizens, would revolt against even the suggestion of a return to those old days. The irony of having helped to bring about the very restrictions that now held him was not wasted on him, but such thoughts brought him no closer to a solution.

“It is not possible,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Then we must plan for the future, sir,” Regulus said.

Pompey stopped to look at him with hope in his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

Regulus took a deep breath before speaking. “Let me join his legion. If there is ever a time when you need him to be stopped, you would have a sword close to him.”

Pompey rubbed his face as he considered the offer. Such loyalty, coupled with so violent a man. Though part of him was repelled by the thought of such a dishonorable course, he would be a fool to refuse a weapon for the years to come. Who knew what the future held, for any of them?

“You would have to enlist in the ranks,” Pompey said, slowly.

The centurion breathed hard as he saw his idea was not to be dismissed without a hearing.

“That will be no hardship for me. My promotions came on the battlefield, from your hand. I have been there before.”

“But your scars-they will know you for what you are,” Pompey replied.

“I will say I’m a mercenary. I can play the part easily enough. Let me get close to him, Consul. I am your man.”

Pompey considered, objections coming and going in his thoughts. He sighed. Politics was a practical business, after all.

“It could be years, Regulus. Will you be missed?”

“No, sir. I am alone.”

“Then it is my order to you, Regulus. Go with my blessing.”

Regulus struggled to find words. “It… it is an honor, sir. I will be close to him if you call. I swear it.”

“I know you will, Regulus. I will reward you when-”

“It is not necessary, sir,” Regulus said quickly, surprising himself. He would not usually have dared to interrupt the consul, but he wanted to give some sign that the trust was well placed. He was gratified when Pompey smiled.

“If only I had more like you, Regulus. No man is better served than I.”

“Thank you, sir,” Regulus replied, his chest swelling. He knew he faced years of hard discipline and reduced pay, but it worried him not at all.